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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881566">The Call of the Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tapeworrm/pseuds/Tapeworrm'>Tapeworrm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(of course...), Being Walked In On, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, In terms of dialogue, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Mutual Pining, Overstimulation, Period Typical Attitudes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Yearning, both of these men are pining for each other, gothic romance tropes galore, harry is a soft brat...if you squint, in a gothic horror / romance sort of a way, in which goodsir is enjoying himself and mcdonald decides to join in, let these gentle men be happy, mcdonald is a soft dom, scottish goodsir, semi-clothed, vampire and lycanthropy metaphors just EVERYWHERE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:09:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tapeworrm/pseuds/Tapeworrm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He daren’t move. He laid still, spread open on his back. Pulse thudding, body hot. All he could do was watch as a rectangle of soft light opened into his room, spilling over him and in his debauched state in his berth, disrupted by a tall dark silhouette leaning against the doorframe, spilling his shadow over Harry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry D. S. Goodsir/Alexander McDonald</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Call of the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>contains mentions of demons/demonic possession as a metaphor for homosexual urges, also Gothic monster tropes like lycanthropes and vampires imply that too.<br/>These men feel like they are transgressing, and in many ways by their society's standards, they are. But it's a sexy transgression! I promise!</p><p>Had a lot of fun writing something a little more...saucy. So please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maybe it was the drink. Making him feel heady, feel soupy on the inside. Heavy warmth deep in his bowels. It could have been the whiskey they had shared a glass of. Gone straight to his head. The same glass which made him laugh and flush as they had sat together. Harry thought it <em>could</em> have been the whiskey, but deep down something far more knowing than he was aware of told him that it wasn’t. That voice was cajoling and cunning. That voice was primal, and it always seemed to know the truth. <em>(You know why you’re suffering) </em>it whispered to him.</p><p>He tried to deny it, tried to swallow it into the darkness of his mind, but he couldn’t disagree. A drink of whiskey between him and Dr. McDonald wasn’t the sole culprit for him feeling this way. This deep sweet heat in his stomach, curling down and down through his loins. He was aware of his demons, and drink alone wasn’t the sole reason he now lay in his berth, in the dark, tossing and turning and winding like a she-cat in heat. Yes, his head felt dizzy, yes, his body felt gooey and hot, but that wasn’t <em>all</em> whiskey. But it burned like whiskey all the same. It burned with shame and it burned with lust. Disgraceful desire.</p><p>He anguished in the dark quiet. Sweating. Twisting in his covers, gripping the wooden sides of his berth with shaking hands. Warring with himself. Yet, that secret part of himself, the wheedling part, relished with the sweetness of the feeling. <em>(Yes, yes, yes!)</em> it sang. His restraint only bought him anticipation. He knew full well he hadn’t the stamina to resist, and his body knew this too. It waited, longed with bated breath until this little performance of struggle finally gave in.<em> (Give in, Harry, these thoughts will never cease otherwise)</em> that deep part of himself taunted. For now, he just stared, panting, into the darkness, too hot and nerves singing like wires, feeling the swell of something deep, deep down. Oh, how it <em>itched</em> to be soothed. He swallowed thickly.</p><p>It was an innocent little moment between him and the Doctor. It had been a busy day, both men rushed well off their feet. ‘<em>Nightcap, Mr. Goodsir?’</em> The Doctor had offered, and who would he be to say no to that proposal? The two of them had shared a few small glasses of whiskey as they sat across from each other in the medical bay.</p><p>McDonald had been nothing but accommodating to Harry since his transfer to <em>Terror</em> weeks ago. The man was as warm and inviting as he was intelligent and funny. A warmth that Harry was afraid to say he found irresistible. But he had held himself tightly together, not allowed his mind to wander. Not looked too long or laughed too brightly. Giving nothing away. But that warmth was pervasive. How it called to him, how he found himself longing for it. To shroud himself within this man’s effortless charm and light. To lose himself in the soothing tone of his voice, the gentle way he spoke. That handsome smile he rarely went without, at least where Harry was concerned. All these things like a siren song to Harry’s weaknesses. To that all-knowing, all-wanting voice in his head. A temptation of the sweetest sorts. The type to rot his teeth.</p><p>So of course, he had agreed to drink with the man. Regardless if this was simply a perfunctory action, one made out of that unrelenting kindness McDonald seemed to offer him at all times. He had taken the chance as greedily as a starved man. And perhaps the Doctor was a feast for a man such as Harry, always full of conversation and smiles, putting him at ease. Harry hungrily devoured every laugh or tap on the arm or amusing story. McDonald was a man that, when in leisure, allowed himself to be displayed. To perform for those around him in a jovial way, and Harry felt safe to swallow everything that he offered. A deep tug of yearning to simply crawl into his lap, to be impaled by his infectious brilliance.</p><p>The Doctor demonstrated such gorgeous confidence and heart that Harry found himself both at once jealous and enraptured. Mesmerized nevertheless, as though watching a beautiful stage performance. A craving so powerful it made him queasy.</p><p>During the ‘nightcap’, they talked to one another easily about the day, reorganising the events, brows furrowing and heads nodding intently. It had been an exhausting day, and both men seemed happy to finally be seated with each other.</p><p>Medical rooms always seemed to Harry to be liminal spaces, much like the depths of the sea. Housing both life and death at the same time. Ever moving in the realms of the living and of the dead, of disease and of health, of speech and of silence. And, like the sea, it was sometimes rocky and unsteady, and sometimes calm. Harry had quickly come to see that <em>Terror’s </em>Medical bay was shaped by the presence of Dr. McDonald, he was able to transform such a liminal space to his command, to control it. A beautiful moon who soothed those rough tides to a flat, glittering expanse with its hypnotising pull. Make it feel stationary once more.</p><p>This was something Harry had noted almost immediately about when he was present with McDonald, this overwhelming sense of comfort he exuded. As though Harry was that rough tide, gentled by McDonald’s soft glowing moonlight.</p><p>But the moon can also inflict lycanthropy. Lunacy. Men would howl, convinced they were wild animals, crawl on their hands and feet, damage themselves with leaping until their bones were broken and they had exhausted themselves. So enraptured and hungry they were for the moon that they became inhuman. Harry was no different. Lycanthropy was being two things at once, being in a constant state of change. He may have been soothed by Dr. McDonald by daylight, but in the darkness of moonlight he transformed. A hidden side to himself he had buried so effectively, now clawing to get out. He was unmade by it, dehumanised, animalistic. Two halves of himself eating each other alive inside. A werewolfism which made him howl with yearning for the flesh and blood of this man. To consume him.</p><p>Thoughts so deeply buried that they infected his very blood, blood so dark and hot and it had nowhere to go, lest he physically cut himself open. To lay within his berth with his body dissected and spread open, no longer a person but clinical object. That would have been much less humiliating than the desires he felt churning under his skin, all too personified and human, not like the cold cadavers he encountered. If he was to feel open and naked, let it be in a way which he understood. He could understand the horrors of surgical vulnerability, the incapacitation a wound provided, but not this entirely untouchable feeling deep within. One which lived inside of him in places where a lancet would never reach. He couldn’t see it, and so it frightened him. Lurking. Heat still prickled over him, his thighs spread with the discomfort, he felt his flesh burning beneath the covers, yet he continued to writhe in the dark. Not yet transformed. Recounting.</p><p>Harry had held his glass with both hands, listening to the dulcet tones of Dr. McDonald. The whiskey shone like gold in the lamplight. Staring down at the way it glittered and swam in the glass, he absently recalled the day’s events as McDonald ran through them. He was shocked from his muzzy thoughts by the sensation of heat upon his knee. He didn’t need to look up to see the Doctor’s hand gently placed on his right kneecap, squeezing minutely. (He could feel the sensation again as he now laid, he gasped.) It was as though a bolt of lightning shot right through him all at once then, his glass nearly slipped from his hands, slick with sweat and trembling.</p><p>“You alright there, laddie?”</p><p>His eyes flew up to meet the Doctor’s face. He was ever so slightly leaned closer to him with a look of gentle concern creasing his brow. That handsome face was flushed from drink, his eyes soft in the lamplight. A vision of warm tones, a delicate oil painting of a man. All of this faded into hurried insignificance for Harry. All he was aware of was the touch searing through the wool of his trousers. Heart thudding in his head, mouth dry. Light and sick with heat, shaking. Hoping McDonald couldn’t feel him trembling under his hand, his hand which seemed to be setting him on fire. Flames creeping slowly, ticklishly up his thighs. He felt himself squirm (his hips jerked with the sensation even now, and he whined into his arm) and let out a small laugh, a product of nerves than anything else. Eyelashes fluttering but still trying to serve a vaguely well-to-do expression to the Doctor. To remain composed.</p><p>“Aye-” He felt his face flush, and he screwed his eyes shut in momentary embarrassment, shaking his head in a dismissal motion, “Uh, yes” he laughed weakly, finding it difficult to re-open his eyes with the heat that now washed over him, but he managed it, “Yes, I’m fine. Was just thinking, sir.”</p><p>McDonald’s hand squeezed again, a tiny amount, a comforting gesture. (Harry heard himself moan in the dark.) Oh, his hand was so warm and so solid on him and he found his eyes fall back to it, watching it as though entranced by the sensation it was providing him. Agonising him. Watching with slow despair as it drew away gently again, heavy with drink and providing a delicious slide of contact which made him (he moaned again) shiver privately, down his spine.</p><p>“You just seemed a million miles away there, is all” the Doctor smiled handsomely, and laughed, giving him a gentle look from over his glass before he took another swallow of whiskey. The sound of it passing his throat still burned into Harry’s mind even now.</p><p>Such a small moment of contact tormented him. A memory imprinting like a ghost upon him. Forcing him onto his back, laid in the darkness of his small room. Convulsing, haunted. His body possessed by sensitivity and thoughts. Replaying the scene over and over in his mind, feeling it as though for the first time. Able to hear the warm rumble of the Doctor’s voice play at the back of his neck, into his ears. Able to feel the fiery contact of his hand. If he squeezed his eyes shut, he could almost see that attractive and welcoming face. An enticing face; an enticing body. He kept his eyes open, staring glazed into the darkness. That incubus of a man who had seized and now tormented him through the simple touch of his hand, from the unrelenting charm he enthused towards Harry, a being to intrude upon his dreams, upon his body.</p><p>He felt himself shudder delightfully. His hands sweat and shook where they curled up into his sheets tightly, his legs opening, his prick wept and strained. Oh, how deliciously sinful, an offering to be stormed and infiltrated, possessed by the hot convulsing demons of lust and desire. A lycanthrope fully changed with it’s hunger, from man to inhuman.</p><p>If sin was within him, as a demoniac, then he simply used it as an excuse for longing. If sin had penetrated him so fully that it filled his body and made it burn, then surely his actions weren’t his own. He was freed by his torment. He writhed and silently agonised to be exorcised by the Doctor’s healing hands. To have this feeling expelled from within him, to be opened up and have it spill out of him. He heard himself whine and his head thrashed to one side, curls sticking to his damp face. Oh, how he would tremble and twitch and shudder beneath such an exorcist, his sins drawn out of him with screaming and howling. His back made to arch as he would oust his demonic fluids. He was panting now, into the dark. Flushing shamefully with the state of himself. His hands remained imprisoned in the sheets, but his hips canted against the barely-there whisper of his night shirt.</p><p>He bit his lip until he could taste blood.</p><p>He couldn’t blame the way his body reacted on some incorporeal greedy devil. He was his own demon. And he was laid, twisting and panting whilst thinking about the man he worked with. A man he had been so close to on many occasions that he could smell the musk of his clothes. A man who would hurriedly roll his shirtsleeves to his elbows, displaying strong and secure forearms. A man whose brow would set, and jaw would flutter in a most striking display of concentration that Harry would forget to pay attention to the blood on his hands. A man who would offer him warm smiles and good-humoured looks across the room whenever he made a quip with a patient or was stuck in a dull conversation. The heat from him when he brushed past, the sensual call of his shoulders and arms, the delicate way his hands moved. How warm his hand had felt on his knee. How his hushed speaking voice drowned Harry’s entire form, pooling in the small of his back.</p><p>He held onto these snippets of images and sensations now as though they were fragments of the most cohesive parts of his life. Aware of his prick laying heavy on his stomach. A guttural groan escaped him, half in disgust and half in blissful agony as it twitched in the dark warmth.</p><p>Within any transgression there was always a threat of being seen. To be discovered, half-changed, dehumanised. A lycanthrope driven from a village under the moonlight, run out by pitchforks and fire in a performance of repulsion. Disgust with oneself, shame, and lies buried so deep within that they rotted you from the inside out, suddenly coming to the surface like scum on water.</p><p>As Harry’s shaking hand slipped below the covers, he felt this same overwhelming fear of trespass. Felt as though he was imposing upon himself.</p><p>His hand crept into the darkness beneath, whispering across his belly, gathering up his nightshirt until it came to hover above the space between his thighs. The heat from the non-contact alone made his head fall back and teeth grit in anticipation. A dirty, pulsing feeling of want. Still, his hand hovered.</p><p>The feeling of one of the Doctor’s skilled hands gently resting on his knee. So much of this man was still out of reach, and yet with one touch he felt as though something had been breached. Something had begun. His body had reacted to it, and he had started to transform.</p><p>Harry’s mouth dropped open with a soundless gasp as he let one finger gently trace the line of his prick, carefully and timidly. Exploring in the safe darkness of his sheets. Gut twisting. Bodily shuddering at the change from velvet smooth skin to warm, drooling wetness as he neared the glans, finding himself leaking shamefully. His prick danced under his touch, leaping for more contact. Harry let loose a quiet sound of despair, heat crawling up his neck, heartbeat thudding both in his temples and his cock. Frozen in a state of temptation. Afraid of what he could coax from himself should he go any further. How could he tell the difference between the way he howled for pleasure and how the lycanthrope howled for blood? Both desperate and both fallen.</p><p>Thought infiltrated him and he imagined how Dr. McDonald might touch him. How would those warm hands guide and soothe him? A guttural moan clawed out of his throat and his hips lifted into his hand, smearing wetness onto his fingers, making him shock and gasp at the contact. Would McDonald treat him like a gentle thing, or like a wounded thing? Would he pity him? Take pity on his struggling, tormented skin? Would he scold his actions, or would he entice them? There was always such a spark to those deep, soft eyes that Harry was sure resembled something like mischief, and it beckoned him.</p><p>Were they the same?</p><p>His hand was fully around his leaking prick now before he truly realised it, and he let out a flat whine through gritted teeth. Shamed but enraptured by the twist of his hand in such familiar motions, his body moving on its own, possessed after all. Pictures flashed in his mind, just brief slides in a kaleidoscope showing a crude collage of actions and words all at once. Dr. McDonald smiling at him from over the rim of his glass, the man bent at the waist cleaning blood from the table, the small noise he would make when moving a patient, the strain in his arms when holding a patient down, the sinfully soft words he would utter during practice (<em>settle yourself lad</em>. <em>Let’s get you good and plastered ey? I’ll be as gentle as I can lad. Shh stay still.)</em> His eyes and how they sparkled when they fell upon Harry, he wondered what thoughts lay behind them. Whether any of them included a certain Mr. Goodsir.</p><p>Harry’s head was thrown back, his curls wet against his neck and cheeks, hot cords of his neck standing out as his throat strained with small vulnerable noises. Every movement bought him tremors and twitches, his body contracting with the beautiful, ecstatic agony he was inflicting upon himself. The slide of his hand undoing him. Just one name lingering on his lips.</p><p>His back had begun to arch now, he shook, his knees falling further open, spreading himself under the sheets to the violations of his hand. The dark realm under the covers feeling ethereal to him, a realm of pleasure and transgression and sin, the belly of hell between his legs. Oh, but it burned deliciously, a land of temptation and skin-on-skin that he had given in to, been devoured by. Saved from his shame by the sheet thrown over himself. Like a body in a morgue, covered and therefore allowed to exist in sleeping state, if you didn’t look below the covers.</p><p>However, the things Harry was hiding were more difficult to mask as he squirmed and writhed on his back, his face flushed and mouth open, there was no denying what was happening under the covers. His hips lifted into his hand, tensing his legs and abdomen delightfully as he continued to move his hand precisely and gasp shallowly. Thinking only of Dr. McDonald, unable to process anything else.</p><p>That is until he became aware of a shadow outside his door, the soft glow of the lit corridor disrupted by the shape.</p><p>He stopped dead, a stone falling in his stomach.</p><p>How long had it been there?</p><p>He crumpled all at once. Horrified with himself. Unable to gather himself completely, still his legs were open, and his prick was hard, and it did nothing but pulse and twitch in the shameful confides of his hand.</p><p>Perhaps it was just a trick of the eye? Sometimes shadows were easy to imagine in the gloom.</p><p>But no, this was a man stood outside his door. A tall familiar man. He gasped so loudly it nearly rang in the room, and he could have inhaled his tongue. He felt white-hot. Cold. Sweating. Drowsy from stimulation, tingling with something he was unable to discern.</p><p>Excitement?</p><p>He felt himself shivering. Watching the shape expectantly through the slats of the door. Feeling it watching back. His fingers twitching against his skin.</p><p>What if he were to continue?</p><p>Stage a seduction of sorts for this incubus, present himself as wanting this possession. It was that wheedling voice, that all-knowing and all-wanting one. (<em>You’ve come this far, Harry, isn’t this what you wanted?)</em> The coax buzzed in his skull and shot down through his cock. He bit his lip around a gasp.</p><p>His hand moved gingerly, watching with eyes hungry and large, like the eyes of a starving beast, at the shadow through the door.</p><p>With any transgression there was always a threat of being seen. To be discovered, half-changed. But Harry wasn’t half-changed any more, the lycanthropy of his desire fully bared.</p><p>He found his head thrown back, throat exposed, as his hand resumed its previous pace. Nerves singing like hot wires and heart thumping (<em>thud, thud, thud)</em> so loud in his head that he could barely hear his own moans as they tumbled from his lips. This was a dangerous game. Begging to be witnessed, to be unearthed. But the thrill of carnality springs from the careful ways to discover how to disregard the respectable. To transform under the moonlight into a beast of lust.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes, too afraid of what he was doing to himself but unable to stop. His body felt alive with sensation, washing over him with every steady pull of his hand, but more so under the watchful eyes of his stranger. His tall and broad stranger. Maybe he had left already in flurry of humiliation.</p><p>He let out a soft moan at the image of the display he must have been putting on, the tempted becoming the tempter, the demoniac becoming the demon. Overcome and controlled by his desires. A sudden deep longing in his gut for satiation, to not only be ravished on the inside by his turmoil but ravished outwardly too. Oh, how he longed to be exorcised of this filth. He writhed in his sweet pain as a cry for help, a wounded animal on it’s back.</p><p>His fingers stopped at the head of his cock now, smoothing over the sensitive nerves there in a careful circular motion, making him thrash and whine so wantonly that he felt deeply ashamed. He continued this until he felt dizzy with stimulation, panting shallowly, punishing himself with pleasure. The movements drowned him in sensation, demons of his desire overcoming him, drawing a word out of him, ever so quietly. The name of his tormenter spilled out into the darkness of his room.</p><p>“<em>Alexander</em>” he uttered, barely a sound at all. An invitation sweet enough and tempting enough to rot fruit.</p><p>As though invoked by this gorgeous display and invited in, Harry heard the door open carefully, calmly. He stopped breathing, his eyes flying open. He daren’t move. He laid still, spread open on his back. Pulse thudding, body hot. All he could do was watch as a rectangle of soft light opened into his room, spilling over him and in his debauched state in his berth, disrupted by a tall dark silhouette leaning against the doorframe, spilling his shadow over Harry.</p><p>He was absently reminded of the <em>Penny Dreadful</em> stories of vampiric monsters entering through windows to feed upon quivering, beautiful victims in their beds. Nothing but a shadowy shape against the moonlight outside.</p><p>His heart suffocated him in his throat as he continued to watch, a swell of anticipation bubbling within, his cock pulsed in his hand and he gasped quietly. All eyes, waiting.</p><p>Quietly and almost hypnotically smoothly, the shadow began to sweep into the room, shutting the door on his way in. Locking them both in. Harry was panting now, his spine curling like a she-cat in heat once again. His whole body shook. The shape moved slowly, elegantly closer and Harry could hear a steady, deep breathing, slightly shaken sounding.</p><p>It approached the end of his berth, one gentle hand rested on the wooden frame. Harry watched and squirmed at the contact, eyes darting between that gentle (<em>unmistakable</em>) touch and the shadowed face. His blood rushed hard in his ears.</p><p>The shadow just watched. Harry felt like he was floating where he was laid, open and dirty. Throbbing and sweating. He could do nothing but stare up with wonderous awe and frightened anticipation, feeling like his entire body was on fire, too giddy to even speak and too rigid to move. Just panting and writhing as though in a great pain.</p><p>“Don’t stop on my account, lad” came a breathy whisper, warm and buttery and scratched with lust so deeply. Harry felt himself rise off the bed with the way it travelled so entirely through him, a franticly heady moan pushed out of him in response.</p><p>Was this a dream, a nightmare? Was the shadow in his room truly a demonic apparition disguised as his deepest desires? Perhaps it really was a horrific monster, ready to devour him. The thought made him shiver and his prick slavered and pulsed impatiently in his hand.</p><p>Panting, he kept his eyes on the shadowy face of Dr. McDonald, though he could barely just see the twinkling of his eyes in the gloom. He stared at that face, a cloud over the usual soft moonlight he was used to. Something voracious and bloodthirsty lurking beneath, something vampiric. The lycanthropy of Harry’s desire had peeled his shame and hidden desires to the surface, laying on his back under that gaze. Had this in turn inspired a similarly monstrous yearning within the Doctor? A longing to feed. To drink of his blood. To consume his essence.</p><p>His renewed the violations of his hand with an eager sensuality, nearly sobbing at the sweet torment of being observed like this. Discovered and bound to the bed as though a demoniac after all. And how that threat of exorcism, of expulsion, of ejaculation, lingered tantalisingly closer now.</p><p>He squirmed and gasped under that stare, mesmerised. His head thrown back, his throat bared, his blood pounding in every vein, his legs wide beneath the covers to his shameful pumping hand, all main arteries pulsating and throbbing and exposed. Ripe for the taking. Calling to this shadowy figure at the foot of his berth.</p><p>There was no need for his mind to supply phantasmagorical half conjured images or sensations now about the Doctor, as his presence was well within the room. And <em>oh</em> how the man gasped richly at the display before him. His hand twitched against the wood frame of the berth. Harry heard him lick his lips even from his distance.</p><p>All he could do was pant, teasingly stroke his length, and twist and whine and grit his teeth with suspense. A squirming sacrifice upon an altar. Martyred to those familiar, torturous thoughts so deeply buried that they infected his very blood. It called to the man who watched him. That black blood of desire tempting the vampirism of carnal consumption. Harry was transformed and howling for the Doctor, and it seemed that McDonald was tempted and thirsty for him too. Both hungry for the blood and flesh of another man, both nocturnal monsters to their deepest urges. Harry was arching again, his cock throbbing and leaking in his hand, short puffs of sound exiting him as he shook and evoked this gorgeous demon, the look in his large eyes pleading it to feed gloriously upon him. The pulsing arteries and veins in his prick aching with need.</p><p>McDonald began to move, just as dreamily as before. His broad shadow slipping slowly closer along the bed, trailing a hand sensually across the covers as he went. His glinting eyes never leaving the display in front of him. He breath coming heavy but measured. Moving as though he was ink in water.</p><p>Harry was already moaning openly when that hand trailed lightly over one of his bent knees, down the front of his thigh, feather-light across his flank. He gasped as it diagonally crossed his chest to rest flat next to his head, the weight of it dipping the blankets as the man above him leant down, bringing his face parallel with Harry’s. He stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped living possibly, nothing but rushing blood. In the gloom he could now make out McDonald clearer and -<em>oh</em>- he looked ravenous. He looked hungry. And was looking directly down at Harry with such an expression of concentration and lust in those soft, twinkling eyes that Harry could have sworn he was being hypnotised after all.</p><p>“Steady yourself, lad” he whispered, breath pushing over Harry’s face in the hot darkness, smelling vaguely of whiskey and making his stomach twist heatedly. He did as he was told and stayed his movements, making his fingers clench into the sheets again.</p><p>Both of the Doctor’s hands were either side of Harry’s head now and for a dizzy, dreamlike moment he thought he truly was going to bite him. McDonald’s shadow fell over him so entirely that it left him blind, only knowing those eyes bore down into him from some sort of primal instinct alone. Closer and closer he loomed until the unmistakeable warmth of lips lingered tantalisingly above his own, puffs of hot breath mingling with his frantic panting.</p><p>Harry felt as if the bed was swallowing him, like he was falling through it into the darkness beneath, only aware of this delicious warmth of Dr. McDonald’s lips. And still the man didn’t kiss him yet, didn’t push any further.</p><p>Slowly and gently, he brushed parted lips over Harry’s, feather-light like the rest of his actions thus far, as if just mapping Harry out beneath him, just determining him in the dark, discovering him. Moonlight falling upon a creature in the darkness. It was all Harry could to do breathe shallowly and quickly, expectantly. Such a rush of energy jolted in him, begging him to just make their lips meet at long, long last. But some mesmerism kept him still. Kept him watching and waiting. Dr. McDonald’s tongue swept across the seam of Harry’s mouth slowly, tasting him. Relishing him. Kissing him the way an animal would, the way a starving beast would. Harry’s whole being shuddered, gasping, as he moaned, surprised but aching. Hot breath spilled onto his face minutely making his hips jolt up under the covers.</p><p>McDonald tutted softly, almost imperceptibly, a breathy smile parting his lips and pushing whiskey scented air onto Harry with a laugh,</p><p>“How long have you wanted this?” It was barely a whisper, deep from his throat and cracking with lust.</p><p>Harry felt his face flush with heat, rapidly his tongue was incredibly heavy in his mouth. Struck mute by his desire, tumbling confessions tangling in his head all at once and unable to reach his mouth cohesively. All he could understand was that the man he was longing for was so close that an onlooker would not have been able to tell their shadows apart from each other. He moaned thickly, unable to form words, dreamlike from both his agonising arousal and his complete yearning. Destined to only howl at the moon, not to explain his actions. His state of being should have been enough of a plea, enough of an answer. The lycanthrope was to transform in his craving for the moon, but in becoming beast, could no longer explain or question himself, losing himself to his urges.</p><p>With this thought buzzing in his head, Harry lifted his lips to capture McDonald’s fiercely. Hoping that where his words could not suffice, his actions would instead.</p><p>He was rewarded by McDonald moaning, and it sent a twist of delight to his pulsing cock. The man pushed him down into the berth with the ferocity of his response, undeniably hungry. Vampiric. Harry felt himself shiver against his warmth, so thoroughly pressed down he nearly struggled to breath. He would have happily suffocated in this bliss.</p><p>The kiss was soft and warm and so much better than Harry could ever have conjured in his mind. Much better than any man he had kissed before. There was a fulfilment here that was absent from his previous rutting escapades. Both men consumed each other’s desperate lust, sighing into each other. A perfect harmony of pushing and pulling and tasting and devouring. A ravenous thing. A satiation and a hunger all at once. An offering and a renouncing, the vulnerability of their naked desires so plain, unhidden, tasted on each other’s tongues sweetly. The thoughts and confessions that sat dormant in Harry’s mouth freed at last to be engulfed. The taste of blood and the feeding frenzy.</p><p>Alighted by this, his demons convulsing, he moaned. It was absorbed by the Doctor’s mouth.</p><p>His cock drooled hungrily. He vaguely wondered at the state of the shadowy man above him and whined keenly.</p><p>“My, my...” McDonald muttered, pulling back, and panting hotly. Harry attempted to chase him but soon found his head fallen back onto the pillow with a lascivious cry out as the Good Doctor’s hand slowly slipped beneath the covers.</p><p>“Oh, <em>YES</em> oh please!” He heard himself pleading with a prickle of shame. Unable to stop himself from thrashing and writhing. Opening his legs wantonly. A feverish frenzy at the invasion, the breach.</p><p>He felt McDonald’s hand like a flame sweep down his body in the darkness. Slowly, agonisingly beneath the sheets. Down into the private world of pleasure he had cultivated. An infiltration into the belly of his hell, where his demons swirled, where his veins pulsated. Where he was exposed, throbbing and shameful. Transformed by the thoughts of this very man. Harry could only shudder and shiver and whine through gritted teeth in anticipation. He felt if it lasted any longer then he would simply lose his mind completely, lose his soul entirely. Overcome by his torment, unable to find himself again, within mere inches of begging.</p><p>He felt McDonald’s breath fanning onto him as his hand moved down. Making out his features in the gloom, he found a face that was watching him so intently, so piercingly, that Harry couldn’t look away. He gazed up, eyes shining with lust and mouth open, panting with him. Willing him on with telepathy alone.</p><p>Harry’s mind provided him flashing images of the Doctor’s hands in his anticipation, how warm and gentle his hands were, how precise, how firm, how skilled, and- <em>OH </em>he could feel his fingers linger just above his weeping prick. Hovering there just like he had done with himself. He shakily swallowed what would have been a sob.</p><p>“Oh...please. <em>Please!</em>” he whispered unsteadily, as though divulging something confidential. A prayer. “<em>Oh, please relieve me, sir, save me from it</em>” barely aware he was saying anything at all.</p><p>The scarce heat from McDonald’s hand tortured him, made him spill all his secrets, his shame forgotten. His heart thudding in his stomach, in his cock entirely, prickling to be touched.</p><p>There came a grizzly almost purr from the man above him in sly approval and it shuddered through him as McDonald’s lips came to hover over his own again, teasing just like his hand. An onslaught of near sensation, of imagined pleasure. Just out of reach.</p><p>“Oh, you <em>poor lad</em>, in such a state, are we?” the words plumed over Harry’s face in the dark, just the hint of his lips moving, just the hint of his hand lowering, “Let’s see what I’m working with here…”</p><p>When McDonald’s hand slipped around Harry’s twitching cock both men moaned into the hot darkness made up of their mingled breaths. Harry’s head fell back, throat constricting, mouth hanging agape in silent blissful agony at the contact. So foreign and so unlike his own hand but oh so warm and soft and perfect. Medically precise. Gently thumbing at the copious fluid oozing from the tip and giving the foreskin an experimental slide deliciously.</p><p>“<em>Heavens above</em>…” McDonald moaned throatily, chasing the sound with a heady laugh, “What a fine <em>mess</em> down here, ey?”</p><p>Harry whined flatly, nodding his head without even realising it. Utterly readable in his pleasure. McDonald chuckled, low in his chest more of a hum than anything, dripping with hunger.</p><p>His precise, surgeon’s hands expertly undid Harry within just a few twists so that he was already seeing stars and issuing high, short sounds with every stroke. His head was spinning, heart pounding in his throat, he felt dizzy. Everything focusing in so narrowly on the soft hand around his cock as it leaked and throbbed with want. His demons curling and spasming in his belly ready to come out.</p><p>He felt McDonald puffing onto his face above him, watching him so intently as though starved, growing steadily more insatiable with every stroke of his hand over the hard, hot flesh of Harry beneath the sheets. He gently smoothed down his foreskin and softly massaged the sensitivity located below the glans with the pad of his thumb. Medically precise. The cords of Harry’s neck strained as he suffocated with a sudden gasp.</p><p>“<em>OH!! Oh there! Please Doctor!” </em>He heard what must have been his own voice, utterly destroyed with lust, strained in his throat, choked, trembling.</p><p>His body thrashed, convulsed off the bed. He wailed and growled with the shockingly sensitive onslaught. Jumping at every shock of sensation. Whining and bucking uncontrollably into the gentle stimulation, unravelled and animalistic.</p><p>He heard McDonald purr quietly in approval,</p><p>“Aye? Is that good?” His Scottish lilt was thick and smooth next to Harry’s ear, “That’s the spot is it?”</p><p>Harry heard himself whine in response just barely managing to catch the Doctor’s heated voice as it floated to him on the dark and the hot enclosing sea of his passion, drowning him. The slowly measured circular motions on his taut and aching flesh continued with firm precision.</p><p>McDonald sighed shakily onto his damp skin “You’re getting close there, aren’t you lad…”</p><p>A deep well of glorious sensation was building and building and threatening to overflow. He was enthused with it, over-run with it, twitching and jerking and spasming with gorgeous pleasure. When alone he gave himself the impression of a transgressor, like a spirit trapped in his lust, vaguely reminiscent of a corpse under a sheet. His touches on himself felt like violations, like intrusions. But with the Doctor’s hot hand upon him, with his sturdy body so close, he felt the antithesis of this. Awake in the arms of his glowing pleasure. The way that he touched him was that of a man of similar desires, who recognised his hunger. And it made Harry howl for more.</p><p>Lost in his dizzying pleasure, the word rang. <em>Hunger</em>. Did the Doctor hunger for him? Did he yearn for him? Did he lay awake transforming and howling just like Harry? Did his mouth salivate with the thought of his flesh and blood? Did his heart pound in his chest, did it pound in other places?</p><p>Moving without realising it, Harry found the hand closest to McDonald uncurl from the sheet, shaking and sweating. On it’s own accord it travelled, questing out the small distance in the darkness to find the warmth of the other man’s thigh where it met the bed. McDonald gasped at the small contact, lips nearly falling to press onto Harry’s before he caught himself, panting. Harry felt himself smile dreamily, sweating. The hand on his cock had stuttered to a halt now, warm and trembling. But he didn’t care, didn’t even notice. He was now hungry for something else. Lightheaded from pleasure and heart thudding with aspiration.</p><p>McDonald swallowed thickly, gazing feverishly down at him from the shadows. <em>Was he holding his breath? </em>Harry’s hand teasingly glided up the smooth cotton of McDonald’s trousers, relishing in the warmth coming from underneath. McDonald’s legs were shaking. Harry’s stomach twisted ravenously with heat. This vampiric longing, weak with hunger, vulnerable to the temptation Harry offered him. The tempted becoming the tempter. His hand snaked slowly up, up. Breathing heavily in anticipation to what deliciousness he might discover in the dark. McDonald moaned lusciously, went to kiss him again, but it was Harry’s turn to evade. Breathing hotly onto the man’s handsome cheek instead. His stubble prickling his lips. In this moment, wanting to hear him more than anything.</p><p>Harry wanted to say something clever, something seductive, but when he felt the hardness straining against McDonald’s upper thigh all words were lost. All sounds apart from to gasp. He salivated shamefully. Traced it feather-light with his fingers, unbelieving. McDonald softly moaned in his ear, his form shaking from the gorgeous effort of not just crashing down onto Harry, delightfully struggling with himself. Harry wondered how long he had been in this state for, was it ever since he spied him through the door? …was it before? He smoothed his thumb eagerly and firmly over the head of McDonald’s prick and felt it twitch against his trousers, satisfyingly sensuous under his palm. He drank in the exquisite gasp and shudder from the man in shadow above him. Sensing the heat radiating from him, brushing his parted, hungry lips over the man’s heated cheek. Luxuriantly squeezing the shape of the Doctor in his hand. His own prick pulsed in the hot darkness at it, the implication of it, the delectable threat of it. The solid confirmation it alone provided.</p><p>“<em>How long have you wanted this?</em>” he whispered the Doctor’s words croakily, brushing a laugh against the other man’s bowed face.</p><p>McDonald turned and kissed him hungrily then, moaning low in his throat. The air was pushed out of Harry as the full weight of his man was upon him, slinking on top of him with feline agility. Sitting upon him as though he truly were an incubus after all. He writhed and relished in the delicious press of his heavy body, how it threatened to overwhelm him entirely in its broadness. He thrilled hungrily as McDonald nestled between Harry’s sheet-covered legs, laying upon him into their kiss. Pressing their hips together by delightfully purposeful accident. One under the sheet and one above, differentiated but still giddily aware of each other. They both moaned in tandem at the heat and position. Something hot and woozy prickled in the back of Harry’s mind at being in such a state of undress beneath the cover’s while McDonald remained fully clothed and perfectly heavy above him.</p><p>The call of each other’s flesh intoxicated one another in the hot darkness. Their throbbing pricks finding friction against each other as though with a will of their own, jolting growling, approving purring from both of them hungrily. Then McDonald ventured to thrust his strong hips down onto Harry experimentally and Harry almost wept, clawing at him, driven to distraction by the abrasing way his prick slid against the cool sheet, beckoned by the temptation of heat on the other side. Of hardness. They shared a desperate moan in one another’s mouths.</p><p>Their sensuous kissing, their hot pushing contact, their exquisite sounds like prayers. Unable to communicate their deep dark convulsing desires any other way. Words didn’t exist in their language for this. To truly know of each other in this way, to see each other for what they both truly were. Unmade. The absolute starvation for each other. How their blood sang for each other’s touch.</p><p>McDonald gracefully pushed up on his hands and knees over Harry, dipped his torso and shoulders like a tiger at a pool to drink from their kiss deeper and more fiercely. Separating the delicious bestial rutting of their cocks much to Harry’s frustration, leaving him tingling and the sheet sticking to him. This feeling was short lived however as the Doctor’s tongue swiped at his lips, infiltrated him. They both moaned wantonly into the hot darkness of their opening mouths.</p><p>Harry’s shaking hands looped around McDonald’s flushed neck, desperate to find purchase in this exquisitely overwhelming man whose tongue he allowed to push further inside. He tasted him sigh, satisfied. His fingers carded luxuriously through McDonald’s hair, starting from the nape upwards, and delighting in the throaty shuddering moan that elicited from him. Emboldened by the way these noises pooled in his chest, his stomach, his aching prick, he wanted to touch every part of this wonderous man above him. Needed it. Cried out for it. His very hands itched for the satiation of contact.</p><p>He soothingly smoothed over jutting, clothed shoulders where they strained in this lowered, prostrated position. Sliding southwards down over that broad expanse of waistcoated chest, relishing sensually in the soft expensive material. Feeling the Doctor rumble low in approval there like thunder. The heat of this man penetrated even through the layers of fabric, and what’s more, so did the rapid fluttering heartbeat. Not an apparition, not a monster; <em>a man</em>. His heart there to the touch, plain and simple, no big mystery, no big secret. Not a body under a sheet, not an anatomical diagram. Captured under Harry’s hand.</p><p>Harry sighed into the devouring mouth of this man, suddenly desperate for <em>more, more, more</em> of him. Squirming and <em>starving</em>, throbbing and pulsing beneath. His seeking hands stroked down the Doctor’s flanks feverishly. McDonald startled impulsively above Harry, shuddering and gorgeously stumbling over a moan. <em>Sensitive there are we, Doctor?</em> A delightfully delirious laugh escaped Harry into the man’s mouth, morphing into a hot moan when felt his own prick throb heatedly.</p><p>Harry ever so slowly, sneakily, let one hand slip down, down McDonald’s body. Seeking out the searing heat of his loins again. A convulsing famine in his belly. Up he ventured to where his legs were parted above him, higher than his torso, perfectly exposed. He was rewarded with the hot length under his palm, feeling it spasm to his touch in the shadows. McDonald broke their kiss with a gasp from the unexpected contact. His hips rocked forwards in his blind helplessness, knocking his forehead onto Harry’s as his body jolted with pleasure.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>” he breathed, eyes fluttering shut briefly, “You are an eager thing, aren’t you?” he purred salaciously, emitting a dirty sounding laugh. But Harry could hear something below the surface faltering, trembling. He thrust his cock along Harry’s hand in a way that made him gasp with the raunchiness of it. Depraved and delectable to the senses.</p><p>A low, keening noise erupted from McDonald as he continued to rock his hips, lost to the contact momentarily. Eyelashes fluttering, eyes beautifully glazed. Lips parted, shining with saliva. Panting hot breath onto Harry. Harry thought he had never seen something as dazzling in all his life. He watched with eyes that glittered with awe and heat as the shadowy man above him ground himself into his open hand.</p><p>“<em>Dear Christ…</em>” McDonald exclaimed under his breath, Scottish tones all ragged and rough. His eyes squeezing shut, his brow furrowing upwards. Just gorgeous with wanton desire.</p><p>But then he stopped. Restrained himself with a deep breath outward, growling with it. like some tortured beast.</p><p>Harry felt dizzy and throbbing from the display. His thighs shaking with how open they had become. Desperate. His prick straining and drooling. Enticed and yearning. He teasingly squeezed McDonald’s length, a cruel curiosity to see what else he would entice out of him. Whether he could incite a reaction. Heat curled in his gut.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>-” McDonald laughed breathlessly, his throat clicking as he swallowed dryly, “now, now, steady there, dear lad. I’ve not the same stamina as you.” His voice was soft and gentle. Warmly chiding. So close to his face he could see that handsome smile etched there.</p><p>“Curious,” Harry breathed, voice sounding slurred and feverish with want in the darkness, “Does that imply I could make you finish like this? Right into those trousers of yours, Doctor. <em>What a prospect!</em>” he punctuated this with another delightful squeeze, feeling the cock pulsate, and smiled in an attempt at sweet innocence. Batting his eyelashes. Appearing absolutely debauched in the process with his hair the state it was and his face so flushed and eyelids so heavy.</p><p>There was a sharp inhale from McDonald, his face falling gloriously slack and dumbfounded. Unbelieving. A searing heat nestled deep within his eyes which took Harry’s breath away. A flame of absolute mischief and desire spreading with a slow, hot grin over his face. An expression he had never seen before and it made his skin prickle and his spine twist. He felt his cock spasm and slaver as though this look had somehow encased it in heat. Harry’s breath hitched, suddenly feeling swallowed up. Less brave than he did.</p><p>Abruptly, in a flurry of motion, Harry was encased in the hot shadow of McDonald’s broad chest as both of his wrists were seized in those large hands and forced above his head. Harry yelped wantonly and his body arched up into the heat and weight of this man eagerly, his breath ragged and stuttering. Feeling deliciously exposed and vulnerable with his arms like this, panting eagerly, head spinning, nothing but numbing heat from his neck down. Pooling and churning between his thighs torturously. The hot, firm abdomen of Dr. McDonald baring down there. No doubt he could feel the shamefully wonderful dampness and twitching there even through the sheet. His prick wept and strained, knowing it was at the mercy of the other man now completely and Harry arched his hips with the ticklish feeling.</p><p>“Try that <em>endeavour</em> now.” Almost a growl, scarily real and Harry swooned a moan, “You minx.” He laughed then, voice breathless and breaking with longing, still smiling hotly. Harry felt the sentence work through him, the pet name, the voice destroyed with lust. He burned with the fabricated encouraged embarrassment of this scenario, ablaze with the deep-seated arousal it urged in him. Feeling utterly powerless to this beautiful man.</p><p>His face was drawn so close in the darkness, his lips tantalising. A fine back-lit glow of warm orange lamplight from the corridor catching on the loose strands of the Doctor’s dishevelled hair, the wiry hair of his sideburns, the prickle of his stubble on his handsome cheeks, and swallowed up in those eyes in a subtle glinting way.</p><p>He recalled the feeling of a demoniac bound to the bed, ready to be ritualised, or perhaps possessed anew by this shadowy, fire-haloed incubus of a man. Harry briefly wondered who had captured who, both men seemingly unwilling to move, enraptured by each other. His heart thrummed and he shivered. Puffing a small moan onto the Doctor’s skin as he simply watched avidly.</p><p>“Now then, dear lad,” McDonald purred, looking down at him, Harry felt his forelock brushing his face teasingly, their lips warm- just barely touching, “lets unveil you, shall we? Then I can get back to making you moan for me, ey?” he laughed dirtily as though drunk. Harry’s breath hitched quietly, his legs finding themselves shaking under the sheet, against the solid warmth of the man resting between them.</p><p>“You can keep your hands up there, can’t you my dear?” McDonald uttered luxuriously, the whisper of it tingling Harry’s face and he found himself nodding eagerly before he was even aware. His neck flushing with heat at the term of endearment. He felt the furthest thing from a ‘dear’ in this way, spread and aching beneath this man. “Aye? Oh, you’re such a good lad, aren’t you?” McDonald added with a breathless haste and Harry heard himself moan, twisting with the delicious heat of the words.</p><p>McDonald leant back momentarily, his hands gliding over Harry’s form in the sheet. Harry could have wept. McDonald wet his lips hastily, grasping the sheet in a hand, screwing it up, lifting it slightly as though to reveal a commissioned sculpture.</p><p>Their gaze met heatedly in this liminal moment. Harry trembled and squirmed under the wolfish ardour of McDonald’s eyes. He stopped breathing. Heart hammering <em>thud, thud, thud </em>behind in his temples.</p><p><em>Floof!</em> and the sheet was sensually whipped away from the berth in one fluid motion. Leaving him bared. Unfurling him. Mixing that inside world of darkness and hidden pleasure with the outside one. Disregarding his shame once and for all. Cold air meeting his prick and making him wince and keen at once, delightfully. He made a conscious effort not to close his legs, trembling so hard his teeth buzzed.</p><p>“<em>Oh-</em>” breathlessly left McDonald’s lips.</p><p>Harry watched the broad shape of the man on his bed seem to almost liquefy, gasping and gazing down at Harry’s unravelled form below him as though he was an exquisite painting. More than that, as if he were something to be worshipped.</p><p>His nightshirt had pooled messily around his narrow ribcage, dark curling hair creeping from beneath all the way down the pale skin of his abdomen, swarming down in a mostly congregated line until it unfurled where the expanse of his dark pubic hair lay, from that point on it sprawled over his thighs in soft singular strokes. But he knew McDonald wasn’t looking at his hair patterns. And his body knew this too. He positively <em>ached</em> all over under this gaze, pulse thrumming in every vein possible, arteries throbbing, set alight everywhere. He squirmed and breathed restlessly. Waiting. Longing. His cock lay on his stomach, now he could see it sparkling with leaking slick and it made his gut clench.</p><p>“<em>Gorgeous,</em>” McDonald was practically salivating, and Harry felt tense with anticipation watching him. His eyes glinting and face darkened in the shadows further down his berth. Returning to that hungry vampiric looming shape and it made Harry curl his fists into shaking balls into the bedding beneath him.</p><p>Harry found himself already moaning as McDonald gently rested both hands on the soft skin of his belly, making him convulse with the ticklishly light touch. Careful and delicate. His prick thrummed so eagerly it nearly stood upright and Harry whined flatly at the feeling.</p><p><em>Are McDonald’s hands trembling?</em> He tried to see his face but found it only a shadow with glittering eyes as his hands tenderly swept down Harry, making him twist and writhe and moan, lifting his hips from the bed.</p><p>“<em>Sh shh shhh</em>, steady now” His voice sounded at least two octaves deeper, bitten with lust so deep and warm it was like listening to silk being pulled through his ears.</p><p>The Doctor’s hands slowly, soothingly, drifted down Harry’s belly, over his fitful hips and softly capturing each of his shaking thighs. Harry’s head was spinning from the heat of the touch alone, feeling like any minute now he would scream from the feelings welling and welling inside of him. Utterly mute in his waiting but still he moaned, utterly unmoving but still he trembled, utterly out of his body but also well within it. Experiencing everything twice as intensely but also floating. He was breathing so fast and so shallowly he worried he may faint, staring with glossy eyes at the shadow looming over his body, drinking of him with gleaming eyes.</p><p>Just as it was getting too much, the shadow suddenly leaned down, a tiger at a pool, melting into the shadows on Harry’s bed out of view and -<em>OH his tongue was on his prick</em>, tracing Harry’s glans, lapping at it hotly. Liquid warmth. Harry’s head flew back with a delirious gasp, his eyes rolled back, his mouth pulled open, breath catching in his throat, hips juddering and body straining and shaking, arching from the bed onto the hot, silken tongue above him.</p><p>McDonald’s tongue drew lazy, hot circles around the head where it lay against Harry’s contracting stomach, tasting him. Moaning low in his throat with a lusty satisfaction. His mouth open to push the flat of his tongue to the underside of Harry’s prick, gliding it firmly and warmly from mid-shaft to that spot under his glans, hot breath puffing out onto his skin in a laugh as Harry spasmed and threw his head to one side with a wanton moan. The feeling of such disembodied heat and wetness on him bringing him closer to the edge of something, whether it was his sanity or a climax he wasn’t sure. But he continued to dangle just at the edge, not yet pushed regardless.</p><p>“I’ve not even <em>begun</em>, lad, dear me,” His voice so low and guttural and velvety from the darkness, punctuating his playful reprimand with a soft, warm kiss to Harry’s glans, making him thrill at the feeling of his smooth lips on the damp flesh.</p><p>He wanted to feel abashed, to feel ashamed of himself, but he truly could not control himself any longer. He didn’t have it in him to feel disgraced in this moment. All he could feel was McDonald’s hand gently seizing his prick at the base, holding it straight. All that swam in his head right now wasn’t thoughts or miseries, it was the brief sound of McDonald’s mouth opening once more and then nothing but the hot, wet, velvet confides of it. The moan of the Doctor vibrating through his cock, pushing a whine out of him in return.</p><p>Harry lifted off the bed, hands screwed up so tight they were numb. His neck so far thrown back so that his whole being created one singular arch, his spine twinging and tingling as McDonald’s mouth worked on him. That beautiful smiling mouth, that clever canny mouth, now devouring him. Harry nearly wept openly. The hard pulsating arteries in his cock soothed by the fluid warmth of his tongue. It circled his head in earnest, pressing at the underside and forming a vacuum with those handsome cheeks. Moving on him with a satisfying hum. Harry felt tears falling into his hairline as he shook and whined, gritting his teeth. It only now occurred to him that the Doctor had done this before, and that made him heat further.</p><p>Harry’s bones were trembling, his mouth open but no sound coming out, only air, his eyebrows drawn so far upwards, curls sticking to his forehead and his whiskers flattened at odd angles with sweat and tears. McDonald continued to service him with a hunger that verged on animalistic, vampiric at last. Fluttering his hot tongue at that sensitive area below the glans again, knowing how Harry would shake and yelp and thrash depravedly beneath him when he did. Hot and aching, Harry felt his prick jump in the Doctor’s mouth, that tongue becoming a key player now and Harry was breathing so shallowly, stopping at intervals entirely. Agonising bliss. Torturous pleasure.</p><p>McDonald moaned happily around Harry, as though slaking a deep thirst, feeding off him. Swirling his tongue on that sweet spot just as his thumb had done earlier. Endeavouring to hold Harry firmly down with a forearm across his sweating abdomen, chuckling darkly low in his throat as he jumped about beneath him like a man possessed. Like a man being exorcised by his hot, soothing mouth. Harry’s shaking hands found McDonald’s hair and wound in there so tightly that the Doctor bodily moaned and jolted, pressing his tongue firmer and giving longer strokes.</p><p>“<em>OH! OH!! YES!”</em> Harry’s voice sounded broken to his own ears; he didn’t even recognise it. He didn’t even give himself clearance to speak but yet there were his pleading words, trembling just like his sweat glazed body was. He felt frail and frazzled and he buzzed with lightning, barely able to breath under the velvet heat of McDonald’s tongue, in the caved hotness of his open mouth. That well of pleasure filling and filling and filling inside of him until he was spasming on the berth, twisting and winding like a scolded snake. So desperately close. Sweet agony of bliss creeping nearer.</p><p>Something in him became entranced then, nearly mesmerised, controlled by his edging release, making his eyes open heavily. Dreamily. Lifting onto his forearms, feeling as though they were made of rubber. Too weak and shaky. His nightshirt stuck to his back, clinging like a second skin with sweat. His curls sat at imperfect angles. He lifted himself up with the mission to lay eyes upon the man with his fangs sunk into him, with his jaws around him, the man who devoured him. As his shadow lean up in the dark to look down, he came to face to face with the display before him, as though in some perfect dream.</p><p>The prostrated, slinking shadow of Dr. McDonald glinted up at him from where the head of his cock rested in that handsome mouth, pulling his cheeks taut. Obscenely pornographic. His hulking frame folded up into masses of shadow between Harry’s shaking thighs. One arm leant over Harry’s hips. His hair, a mess, fell over his face. Harry panted at the sight as though a voyeur, so shameless and intense was the sight he knew it would be burned into his memory from this point onwards. He let out a soft, awestruck moan as the Doctor laughed up at him, eyes glittering from beneath his furrowed brow, never stopping the ministrations of that torturous tongue, in fact he moaned hungrily up at the sight of Harry and pressed on in earnest.</p><p>As if this display wasn’t provocative enough, it was then that Harry realised McDonald’s other hand was slunk into his own trousers, tending to himself with ruthless vigour. Making himself buck and twitch. Drawing his own desperate moans out around Harry. Making himself leak over his fingers, sparkling in the gloom, skin emitting depraved wet noises. Harry’s head fell back with a low long moan, a howl, throat exposed, tendons in his neck thudding. His hands still wrestling in McDonald’s thick hair, scrambling for purchase as he knew that he was falling over the edge now. The memory of what he had just seen freshly imprinted in his mind, the sweet hot plush of the Doctor’s tongue in punishing circles, the damp heat of his mouth enclosed around him.</p><p>He heard a voice moaning frantically and realised it was his own, his spine arching, his eyes rolling back, he stopped breathing. He sobbed. Then his body convulsed inwards with a such a force that he nearly headbutted McDonald. Pulling his hair, hearing him moan giddily in response far off. Spasming, ousting his fluids. His eyes screwed up so tight that tears were squeezed out. He continued to convulse and shudder inwards in quick succession, unable to breathe or make a sound with the force of it. White spots dancing behind his eyes, his legs and arms shaking and jolting uselessly, thighs closing around McDonald’s head but still he contended on top of him, riding the convulsions of his hips to keep his mouth in place, his own hand working himself shamefully. Harry’s chest swelled with the threat of crying from the over-sensation, the whole superfluous pornographic scene. So much, so perfect, all at once. He cramped inwards again, a high strained moan leaving him, he nearly shouted out. Then the mouth was gone, having fed.</p><p>“<em>That’s it, that’s it, I’ve got you,”</em> he could hear soothing, purring tones of McDonald saying to him but he was lost, floating, he felt warmth enclose him and he clung to it, contracting once more, sucking breath in desperately, expelling it with a sob. Shaking all over. Freed. Empty. He felt gelatinous, boneless, and melted into the warmth above him. Discovering slowly that it was McDonald embracing him. His musk familiar and warming. He was soothing him in the darkness – ‘<em>shh, I’ve got you, good lad, that’s it’</em>- and Harry would have purred if he could. All warm and gooey and just seeking contact, anything grounding. He felt his back meet the berth again, -‘<em>that’s it, nice and comfortable now’</em>- dizzily, a heavy warmth pressing into him from above from the Doctor. There they laid in a hot, slow, comforting silence. Just breathing. Holding each other in the darkness.</p><p>“Good Lord…” Harry said after a while, opening his eyes heavily and he felt McDonald laugh against him, drawing up to look down at him. He was struck by the handsomeness of that face again, even more dazzling now than before. More mesmerising every time he saw him. McDonald looked like he was about to say something terribly charming, but Harry found himself pulling the man onto him with shaking arms for a searing, slow kiss instead. He felt McDonald moan and he smiled.</p><p>It was then he tasted briny musk on the Doctor’s tongue and realised with a jolt of white-hot embarrassment that he must have swallowed his seed. He heard himself moan headily at the thought, pulling him closer hungrily. McDonald moaned too, pushing his body against Harry’s all hot and broad against damp and trembling. Harry could have lived here for the rest of his life.</p><p>“Did you finish in your trousers, you dirty old man?” Harry laughed breathily against the man’s lips as they parted minutely, arms still enwrapping each other. He felt McDonald’s body shake as he laughed, so close that it was just darkness between them. Darkness and heated breath and the whisper of their lips.</p><p>“If you ceased pulling my hair like that, then maybe I may have been able to control myself a wee bit better, ey?” his voice was gorgeously smooth in the dark. Harry bloomed under the knowledge that he had been unwittingly tormenting him the whole time, he nearly laughed.</p><p>“You realise you’ve given me deadly information there, Doctor” Harry raised a solemn eyebrow even though they couldn’t see it, “I didn’t know you were so…sensitive”.</p><p>McDonald laughed dirtily, low in his mouth, kissing Harry once briefly,</p><p>“Aye, and I didn’t realise that you thought of me when you touched yourself like a pretty little whore,” He kissed him lightly on the seam of his lips, on his cheek, his mouth next to his ear dangerously silken “I could hear you moaning all the way from my room, you know”.</p><p>Harry gasped and arched into the warm, strong arms of this man, feeling a residual pang of shame and arousal intermingled in his body. He smiled, dipping against McDonalds neck.</p><p>“It worked though, didn’t it?” he purred, “Couldn’t resist, could you?”</p><p>He felt a heated chuckle rise through McDonald’s throat, rumbling in his chest and he squeezed him.</p><p>“Hush now.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(This was just another excuse to fulfill my personal yearning for Dr. McDonald...)</p><p>hope you enjoyed!! Please leave me a kudos and comment if you want to, it would literally make my day and inspire me to write more often tbh</p><p>you can find me on twitter @tapeworrrm and tumblr @tapeworrm :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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